Canada Da Yo
by Brightbriar
Summary: Canada is frustrated. He's sick of being pushed into the background, into the shadow of his brother, sick of America getting involved in other nation's problems, and sick of being ignored. When he finds a crying girl on the side of the street, he is quick to help, but soon, he finds himself trying to create an identity for himself, yet concealing it from his guest. (No romance.)
1. Chapter 1

The meeting had gone badly.

Canada emerged from the room, eyes narrowed in disappointment and frustration. Why did his brother have to be such an annoying prick sometimes? Why couldn't they just cooperate? Why did no-one notice him? Why did people always think he was his brother? And how the hell had he run out of maple syrup?

He hadn't really had a bad day. It had been more of a bad week. He was just sick of everything. Nothing got done, and no-one seemed to care, nor was anyone doing anything about it. Canada tried. He really did. But no-one ever noticed. It was like he faded into the background. He closed his eyes, clenched his fist, and took a deep breath. _Calm down. You can get maple syrup on the way back. It's okay._

"Hey, Canada!"

Canada looked around at France, peering over the heads of other countries, trying to make his way toward him. It was almost customary for him to leave the meeting with France. They liked to discuss what happened before going their different ways. The slightly taller European country ruffled his hair affectionately. "I called out like, three times! For once I'm the one not being noticed, huh?" he said, grinning.

Any other week, Canada might have laughed. Instead, he glowered at France, wrapping his plaid scarf around his neck. France raised an eyebrow. "Did you run out of maple syrup?"

"Wha- how did you know?!"

France shrugged. "You only get _really_ grumpy when you don't have the stuff. But seriously, are you okay?"

Canada paused, then sighed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "No, not really. America's just being a..."

"Dick? Arse?"

Canada rolled his eyes. _Only you, France_. "I was going to say pain."

"Oh. Same thing, really."

"Not quite."

"Depending on the context," he pressed. "In this context, they're similar."

"Whenever _you_ use those words, the context is kind of ambiguous," Canada teased.

France looked crestfallen. "Ouch. That was harsh."

Canada sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I just wish people would stop mistaking me for the douche sometimes." He felt a rant coming on, and he didn't feel like holding it back, so he waved his hands as he spoke. "I mean, why do they even do that? We're completely different. Sure, we look similar, but no more similar than I don't know, Switzerland and Poland."

"They do look similar," France mused, frowning. "Really similar."

"And our personalities! He's so, I don't know... _extroverted._ And arrogant. And overbearing. And ignorant."

France nodded, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "Look on the bright side. At least you're not being mistaken for England."

But the Canadian wasn't listening. "And his sense of pride! He thinks he's God's gift to planet earth, and his political system is perfect, and Americans are the greatest people in the world. Americans are practically the _only people_ who bug Canadians! Well, some Canadians. This Canadian. And can you believe, today, he actually had the nerve to-"

"You're not that different, actually. In other ways."

Canada broke off, surprised. "Pardon?"

"I mean, you _do_ look kind of similar. Your people have the same sort of racial background. And accents. And literacy rate. And life expectancy. Clothes. Cultures. Religion. Government. Individualism."

"But-"

"Especially in English Canada and the U.S. North," he added, placing his hands in this pockets. He paused, glancing over at his fellow nation. He looked stunned, not quite sure how to respond. France placed a hand on Canada's shoulder. "Maybe it wouldn't have been better not to say anything, _non_? Again...how long has it been since you had maple syrup?"

Canada blinked, glancing up at the roof. "Fifteen hours."

France nodded, and handed him a small wad of notes. "Go buy some. Don't kill your brother - sometimes I'm quite fond of him. Call tomorrow if you still feel like venting, okay?"

Canada sighed. "Thanks. I will."

"See you, _petit feuille d'érable_!"

Canada nodded, calling out a soft reply as France moved off. He wasn't addressed by any other nations as people proceeded to exit the building, so he didn't say a word as he left himself. His eyes were narrowed, and he couldn't stop thinking about what France had said.

 _Am I really that similar to America?_

* * *

It felt good to be in possession of maple syrup again. Canada was in a considerably better mood as he made his way home, with a shopping bag from 7/11 in hand. As soon as he got home, he would have to make tea, of coffee, or pancakes, or something, purely so he has an excuse to have some at midnight.

He liked walking home, especially at night. There weren't many people around, and the lights looked fantastic, piercing the dark skies, with red and yellow reflections dancing on the slightly wet, once snow-laden pavement.

He paused when he heard crying.

He glanced around, scanning the streets, at first finding nothing, until his eyes were drawn to a young girl, hunched over, shivering. She looked around sixteen, maybe a little older, with thick, long, wavy brown hair. She really wasn't dressed appropriately for this weather, wearing only thongs, jeans, and a white tank top, a towel wrapped around her. The red strap of a swimming costume was visible on her shoulder, and a black sports bag lay beside her.

He found his feet taking him toward her before he could think. She glanced up, her posture stiff, fearful, but Canada knelt down a few feet away from her. "It's okay. I don't want to hurt you. Are you okay?"

She nodded, her eyes wide, shaking violently from the cold. "F-f-f-f-fine. Thanks."

Canada raised an eyebrow. "Not cold?"

She opened her mouth to reply, then sneezed. Before she could respond properly, Canada started to take off his own jacket. The girl held out her shaking hand. "N-no, you don't have to-"

"It's fine. I'm used to this weather."

She didn't protest as he draped the jacket over her shoulders, though she looked guilty. "I-I'm fine, r-r-really."

Canada looked at her slightly sternly. Being Canada, that meant a lot of emphasis must be placed on 'slightly'. "No, you're not. Do you have somewhere to stay?"

She wrapped the jacket around her, pushing her arms through the sleeves. "I w-wouldn't be here if I did, would I?" she stammered, then sneezed again.

"Do you want to come to my apartment for the night?"

"I-" she broke off, glancing around, the look in her eyes suspicious. "How do I know you're n-not..." She twisted her fingers together. "It's not that...you seem really nice, I don't want to offend you b-but..."

Canada frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

The girl's eyes darted to the pavement. "H-how do I know you're not a rapist," she said quickly, blushing.

"Oh." Canada's gaze softened, and he spread his arms. "Do I really look like a rapist to you."

She actually laughed. "No. No, not really. Just...old habits die hard."

Canada nodded. "Good. Let this be the only time you trust a stranger, but since your only other option here is hypothermia, you should probably come with me."

She still looked unsure. "But-"

"I'm not going to take advantage of you, I promise," he said earnestly.

The girl still paused. "You still haven't told me your name."

"Um...Matthew," he said quickly. He hadn't used that name in a while, but it was no struggle to remember. "Williams."

"Lydia Hollens." Her eyes were still wide, but she seemed a little more relaxed.

Canada offered her his hand, and she took it, supporting most of her weight as she got up, much to Canada's surprise. She narrowed her eyes. "You look like a Matthew."

"Really? People say I look like an Alfred." Canada was surprised at how quickly the response came.

"What? No, I can't see that."

She sneezed, and Canada started to remove his scarf to, but she refused to let him. "Y-you must be cold as it is."

"No, not really."

She cast him a grateful glance. "Alright. I'll come. How far is it?"

"About twenty minutes walk. Do you think you can manage?"

"Y-yes. I'll be fine."

They walked in silence. Canada wasn't quite sure what to say, and Lydia looked a little overwhelmed, and exhausted.

When they arrived, Canada let them in, and Lydia placed her bag by the door. She was still shivering, but her teeth weren't chattering now. "Is it okay if I have a shower?"

"Sure. I'll put on some warm food. Do you like pasta? It's not much, but it's quick to make."

"Yes. Thank you."

"Do you have clothes to change into?"

She nodded. "Well, kind of. I have underclothes, but no shirts or pants - I meant to buy some tomorrow..."

"You can borrow some of mine, if you like. Those jeans must be soaked through."

"I...okay. If you're sure."

"It's no trouble," Canada assured her, then bent down to reach into the cupboard for a saucepan.

All through the meal Lydia apologized for imposing upon him so much, but Canada insisted that it was fine. "It's nice to have someone here once in a while."

Lydia still looked guilty, awkward. "Still."

Canada shrugged. "How did you end up on the side of the street?"

Lydia hesitated. "I...um...I swim. Competitively. I came here to do it on a national level - I want to qualify for the under 16s in Beijing next year. To represent Canada."

Canada only just managed to conceal a chuckle of amusement. If she wanted to represent Canada, she'd run into the right person. "You look like a swimmer," he commented instead.

"Thanks, I guess. But today...my test, after my heat, you know, for steroids and stuff went...badly. And I didn't use them, I swear! I-" she broke off, taking a deep breath as tears started to rise. Canada patted her shoulder gently.

"It's okay. I believe you. But they didn't?"

"N-no. I think my drink was spiked last night with whatever drug. And it's so disappointing - that was one of my best times. I wish I knew whether it was thanks to whatever I took..." she shook her head, taking another deep breath. "I was disqualified."

Canada frowned. "But what about your parents? Where are they?"

"My parents...my Dad's in Toronto. I ran away, last week actually. To compete today. My Dad..." she took a deep, shaky breath. "He didn't treat me well. He..." Her gaze suddenly focused on an empty spot on the wall, and she started trembling.

Canada got out of his chair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Lydia?"

The girl stiffened, then seemed to remember her surroundings, and relaxed. "He...he abused me. Hit me."

"Oh."

"It started after Mum died. She had cancer - she passed away two years ago. He broke down, and started-" she broke off again, falling silent, her eyes blank. Canada gave her arm a quick squeeze.

"I- sorry."

"No, don't apologize."

"Anyway, recently...my grades were dropping, since I was devoting so much time to swimming. He tried to make me stop, tried to make me stay, and focus on my studies, but...swimming's the only thing I can see myself doing with my life. And I realized I didn't have to put up with _him_ anymore. So I ran." She grinned in satisfaction as she added, "And stole some of his money."

"I go to school with another girl in the Canadian swim team, Alex. We're good friends - she talks to the coach all the time, telling him how fast I am. But Dad wouldn't never let me sign up. Alex persuaded the coach to let me swim, if I could get there. And I did. But God, I've screwed up..."

She couldn't stop the tears this time. Placed her head in her hand, her whole body shaking, her breathing turning to uneven gasps. "Athletes who train for huge periods of time from a young age spend so much time doing it, they don't learn how to do other things. If this means I can't swim, I have no sense of direction, no career, no anything..." she broke off as another wave distress racked her body.

Canada got to his feet and guided her out of her chair. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she needed sleep, badly. "Tired?"

She sniffed, then nodded. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No, take my bed. You need proper rest."

"I can't possibly sleep on your bed while you're on the couch! In your own house!" she argued, her voice breaking.

Nonetheless, Canada tried to usher the distraught girl into his single bed, but she pushed him away with surprising strength. "I can sleep on the couch!"

Canada raised his eyebrows. "Then I'll sleep on the floor."

"But-"

"You can have the bed, seriously!" he insisted.

Lydia stubbornly shook her head, watching helplessly as Canada went into his room and removed the doona and pillow from his bed, lying down beside the couch. Her expression slowly changed to something like amusement. "I'm still not sleeping in your bed."

Canada shrugged. "Just make sure you get _some_ sleep. It sounds like you need it."

The swimmer nodded, and turned off the light. "Night, Matthew."

"Goodnight, Lydia."


	2. Chapter 2

Unsuprisingly, Lydia fell asleep fairly quickly. Her breathing had been uneven and ragged for a few minutes, but the crying ceased, and now it was slow and regular. Canada, however, was struggling to get to sleep. It wasn't because he was on the floor - he was surprisingly comfortable. His thoughts kept him awake.

It was so easy to lose touch with his people. He hadn't spoken to an actual, normal Canadian for months. He was meant to represent Canada, but he hardly knew the people he was representing. Millions of people came and went in the blink of an eye, and he only really interacted with politicians and government officials. He rolled over, giving up on sleep entirely, looking up at Lydia, on the couch. He could hardly believe she was only 16. She was so young, but so mature. She was strong too, physically and mentally - it wasn't hard to imagine her as a swimmer. She was very fit, and quite muscular, with particularly broad shoulders. Her hair was still wet from the shower.

He smiled softly. _I should spend time with normal people more_.

Canada sighed shifting his position, closing his eyes again, wondering why he didn't feel tired. He had been exhausted earlier, to the extent that France had sent him home. He still hadn't had any of the maple syrup - in theory, he should have crashed instantly. He paused, wondering whether he should get up and eat some now, maybe even straight out of the bottle, but he decided he couldn't be bothered to move.

He couldn't stop thinking about what France had said the previous day. Maybe he was pretty similar to America. But not _that_ similar, right? I mean, they had their differences. America was loud and abnoxious. He was more quiet and agreeable, he hoped.

 _But that's why America's the one people notice, isn't it? While you go unnoticed, some frozen sort-of-American continent thing with an unhealthy obsession with maple syrup._

He sighed heavily, and stretched out his legs. Was there anything he could do? Maybe something bold, and different to America?

He kept thinking about this, (and hockey,) all through the night, but it led to nothing. Sunlight started to filter through the blinds, and he hadn't slept at all, he didn't think. Maybe for like, half an hour. Sadly, that wasn't terribly unusual.

He got up, feeling more awake than he expected. He checked his watch - it was about 6:00. Lydia was still asleep. He put his covers back onto his bed, and quietly got out some milk, flour, sugar, egg, and vanilla extract from the kitchen. He had a special place for these things - the things he needed to make pancakes.

The next half an hour or so passed uneventfully. He was tempted to flick on the news - he was a little concerned about China and Greece's economic situation, since he had that feeling in the back of his throat that he was _maybe_ about to get a cold - but wanted to let Lydia sleep.

As he started flipping the first pancake, he heard Lydia shift, yawning. He glanced around as she propped herself up onto her elbows. "Morning."

The girl looked slightly alarmed for a moment, then seemed to remember where she was, and relaxed. "Morning. What time is it?"

"6:30. Maybe a bit closer to quarter to."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "You look like you haven't slept."

Canada shrugged. Lydia's eyes widened. "You should have slept in the bed! Or maybe _I_ should have slept in the bed so that you could have the couch...but I couldn't sleep in your bed..."

Canada grinned. She was almost as unnecessarily apologetic as he was. "It's fine. It wasn't being on the floor that kept me awake." He adjusted his glasses, then added, "Do you want pancakes?"

"Yes, please." She sat up properly, crossing her legs, looking around. "You have a nice apartment. Do you live here alone?"

"Yeah. Normally."

"It's nice," she repeated. Canada nodded, pleased. It wasn't his usual house - that was practically a mansion, where other countries could stay, where most of his stuff was. But he'd wanted to have a house that was actually a part of Canada, rather than sort of hanging off the edge. He'd put a lot of time into furnishing it. There was a large, L-shaped black leather couch adorned with cushions bearing maple leaves, a low, long, rectangular coffee table with a glass top, a television mounted on the wall, and a simple kitchen with a small fridge off to the side. In the other room, his bed, a bookshelf, and a chest of draws, and the small ensuite.

He adjusted his glasses by the corner and poured a bit of batter into the pan - maybe too much. Nevermind. Lydia slowly, stiffly, got off the couch, lifting her arms above her head, stretching.

He gave her the first pancake. She still looked incredibly tired, although her eyes were brighter. They had been bright last night, but more with fear and worry than anything else.

"Oh my God."

Canada looked up, about to pour out the next bit of batter. "Huh?"

"This is the most amazing thing I've ever tasted."

"I've had a lot of practice."

"No, seriously. This tastes like heaven." She paused, taking another bite. "Whatever your job is, you should quit it and become a chef."

Canada shook his head, grinning. "If only."

"Whaf-" she cut off, swallowing her mouthful. "What is your job?"

Canada panicked for a moment, then quickly said, "International relations."

Lydia nodded. "Cool. One of my friends - well, sort of friends; she's in the year above me - wants to go into that, with the UN and stuff. She's planning to do law at university and things in a couple of years time." She paused. "I could never be that studious or dedicated."

"For law?"

"For university," she replied, shrugging. "I'll probably just do a diploma in stage production or something, if the swimming thing doesn't work."

"You're interested in theatre?"

"Yeah, but I could never act. I'd get too nervous."

Canada nodded. "Don't you get nervous swimming?"

"Not really. It's hard to explain. It just feels...natural."

She pushed her knife and fork together, then stood up. "I'd better change, then leave..."

"I don't mind if you stay here. As long as you need to," Canada said quickly, without really thinking. He didn't regret it though.

"Wait, really? No, I couldn't, I've already..."

"Seriously. Do you have anywhere else to go?"

Lydia shook her head, seeing now that she didn't have much choice. "No - maybe I will stay. But I'll have to pay you back somehow."

Canada waved one hand dismissively. "Really, you don't. But if it made you feel better, we can split the cooking."

"...Okay. Thankyou, really, Matthew."

She turned around, then started fishing through her sports bag, at the foot of the couch. "Either way, you won't see me much today. I might get some clothes...is there a Walmart or Target or something nearby?"

"Yeah, I'll find a map..."

Before long, Lydia left, assuring Canada that she had enough money with her. It was slightly strange to see her go. He imagined he'd get used to having her around fairly quickly.

Being alone again meant his mind was allowed to wander back to the issue of America. He wasn't as mad as yesterday, (though that probably had something to do with the maple syrup he was _finally_ drizzling onto his own pancake,) but he still wondered whether he should say something. If no-one said anything, nothing would change. But he wasn't convinced he had the confidence to do so. He hadn't on multiple occasions before. Maybe he could drop a hint to England - he'd be able to get the message across. But England didn't tend to notice him either.

Although France and England had fought over him as a child, (the battle didn't last long,) England, with his focus divided between his many colonies, along with his other commitments back home, hadn't spent a huge amount of time around Canada, and Canada had never really asked for attention. It wasn't like he didn't _want_ attention, but activley seeking it out seemed selfish, and unnecessary. When he grew a bit older, France showed more interest in him again, perhaps proud of the small mark he'd left on the younger nation beforehand. They weren't become as close as say, Germany and Italy, (Canada was seriously starting to wonder just _how_ close those two had become, possibly literally,) but France remembered he existed, which is was certainly something. He liked to think they knew each other rather well, but they didn't actually talk as much as either of them would have liked.

He sighed, and put the dirty clothes he'd left under his bed the last time he was here in the wash, and started to read a bit of _Catch 22_ , before his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

He folded the corner of his page, drawing it out slowly, then glanced at the screen. It was America. He paused, wondering whether he should have let it rolled to voicemail, but he cast away the idea quickly, swiftly putting the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Canada! I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I had no idea-"

"Slow down! What happened?"

"I got an angry call from France yesterday saying you looked like you were going into recession or something and you were out of Maple Syrup and you were mad at me! I didn't mean to do anything, I swear-"

"America, it's okay. Calm down."

"Pardon?"

" _Calm down."_

"Oh, right. Well, I'm sorry."

Canada smiled weakly. He couldn't stay mad at America, no matter how much he wanted to. "It's okay."

"What was it about, anyway?"

"Oh, it's not important."

"Don't give me that. If _you_ were mad, I've _seriously_ screwed up."

"Seriously, it's nothing." Canada knew he was lying to them both, but he didn't want to offend his brother.

America didn't sound convinced. "Well, okay. If you say so."

"How worked up was France if he made you call me?"

"Oh, he wasn't too bad. England started scolding me though, when I told him France had called about somehow bugging you."

"Oh. Well, let's stop talking about this."

"Sure, if you want. How are you? Apparently you're not home."

"Who told you that?"

"France. I think he was pretty worried about you. You hadn't had maple syrup for a while, so I don't blame him, to be honest."

"Oh."

"Well, where are you?" He sounded a little impatient now.

"At my other place, in the city. You've been there once."

"Oh yeah, right. Why?"

Canada paused. "You in a hurry?"

"Nope." Canada was pretty sure he heard the crunch of a potato chip on the other end of the phone.

"I ran into this girl yesterday. She's kind of in trouble. She needs a place to stay, so..."

"Are you crazy?! What if she found out!"

Canada pulled the phone away from his ear, unprepared for America's harsh reaction. "I'm being careful! But I couldn't just leave her on the street, and I can't kick her out."

"Please don't tell me she's taking advantage of your kindness."

 _Because you wouldn't know the first thing about that._ Canada became a little bitter, but didn't voice that thought. "Not at all - she _worries_ that she's staying too long. She wouldn't be here if she could help it."

"Then make up some excuse. Say you have to go overseas. Who even is she?"

Canada sighed. "Her name's Lydia. She's become stranded after this swimming competition went wrong, and she has no-where to go. She's the kind of person who doesn't want to admit she needs help, but is simultaneously incredibly grateful, I think."

"Fine. Just...don't get too attached to her, okay?"

Canada narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

The other end of the line went silent. Canada frowned. "America? America, are you there?"

"Davie."

Canada blinked a few times. "Who?" It was strange, hearing those words come out of his mouth, rather than being directed at him.

"When I was younger, I found this guy called Davie. He aged, and he died, and I was heartbroken, okay?" He snapped. "I don't want to see you go through that."

Canada considered his words for a few moments. "No. Lydia needs shelter, and I can give that to her. I'd never forgive myself if I left her on the street."

"Please Canada, I'm begging you-"

"No!" Canada clenched his fist, Canada-yelling (raising his voice ever so slightly) into the phone. "I'm going to do something different than you! Then maybe I can show everyone we're not the same!"

He hung up before he could think twice about it, huffily returning to his book. His phone buzzed a few times in the next few minutes, all texts from America, but he didn't bother to reply.

 _Canada?_

 _Canada, is this war u were mad about?_

 _*wheat_

 _*what_

 _Hello?_

 _...ttyl :(_

Unable to focus on his book, he snapped it shut and placed it on the couch, considering what he'd just said. He hadn't really thought about it. It just sort of...happened. But he might have been right. What if this was his chance to distinguish himself from America? By helping Lydia?

The more he thought about it, the more he realised he had nothing to lose. He had always intended to help Lydia as much as he could, but if that could set him apart from America...

He smiled a little. Kumasaki would be proud, now that he'd finally said something.


	3. Chapter 3

"Matthew?!"

Canada sat up and flicked off the TV when he heard Lydia call out. She must've just come back, now that all the shops nearby were closing. "Yeah?"

"Why's there a polar bear cub outside your door?!"

 _Maple!_

Okay, so he hadn't thought that through.

He got up quickly and opened the door, to see Kumazuko sniffing Lydia curiously. Lydia looked terrified. Canada sighed, and closed the door behind him, coming out into the cold. "He's alright. He um...hangs around here a lot - he's been practically domesticated by the neighbourhood. Probably just looking for food," he said quickly, bending down to scratch the bear behind the ears. "He's kind of like a dog."

Kumajitsu gave him a quizzical look, then glanced between them. Canada prayed he would stay quiet. Lydia pressed her lips together, looking unsure. "Should I..."

"You can go inside and grab some ham from the fridge, if you want."

"Er...okay."

Lydia ducked inside, and Kumatashi placed a paw on Canada's knee. "Who's she?"

"That's Lydia. She can't know who you are, or who I am. Don't talk when she's around," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Kumashoto gave a kind of shrug. "She your girlfriend?"

"Wha- no! She's not even a country!"

The polar bear looked unconvinced. "If you say so." Then he narrowed his eyes, frowning a little. "Who are you?"

The country sighed, grinning. Of course he'd forgotten. "Canada."

Lydia came back outside with a few slices of ham in her hands. Canada looked around at her. "Do you want to give them to him?"

She paused, then shook her head, looking a little sheepish. "I'll let you do it."

Canada nodded and gave a slice to Kumasimba, who was confused, but definitely not about to argue. Lydia fidgeted nervously. "I'll um...I'll be inside."

The door shut firmly as she went back in, taking a few bags of shopping with her. Kumaryou looked past her, wanting to go in too, but Canada shook his head. "Not while she's here, bud."

"But-"

"I don't want her to get scared. Or suspicious."

Kumayoshi looked away, pouting. Canada offered him another slice of ham, which he took, yet managed to maintain his dignity. "You didn't come home after the meeting."

Canada blinked. That was a long sentence, for him. "I had to give Lydia a place to stay."

"Kick her out."

"What?! No!"

Kumamatata glanced at the ground. "Come home."

Canada's gaze softened, and he wrapped his arms around the bear in a literal bear hug. "Hey, it's alright. I'll come back soon. Just not yet."

The polar bear cub looked unsure. "Promise?"

"I promise," Canada said firmly. "I would never leave you."

Kumayokai looked satisfied, and drew away slowly. "I know. But...still strange."

"Yeah. We've hardly ever been apart, huh?"

Kumajoto nodded uncertainly. "Well...see you."

Canada stood up. "Yeah. See you later."

The polar bear paused for a moment, then sprinted away. _Like ripping off a band-aid,_ he mused. _The faster it is, the less painless, I guess._

He lingered outside for a moment, then sighed, and went back in.

"Lydia?"

"Don't come into your room - I'm getting changed!"

Canada nodded, then realised Lydia couldn't see him. "Okay. Do you want coffee?"

"Er...do you have tea?"

"Yep. English Breakfast suit you?"

"Brilliant - thankyou!"

Canada was suddenly reminded of a pun France had made at one of their meetings, after the allies' victory at the end of World War 2 - "What do you call a German with a fascist government? English Breakfast." In hindsight, it wasn't _that_ funny, but it was probably the only compliment France had ever given England. (England had followed it up with, "What do you call Whiskey at 7:00 in the morning? Irish Breakfast.")

Not a minute later, Lydia emerged from the bedroom, wearing jeggings and a grey-white t-shirt, Canada's plaid shirt and jeans draped over one arm. "Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes."

"It's nothing," he said easily, putting on the kettle.

Lydia sat down at the table, pulling her hair into a loose, low ponytail, once again reminding Canada of France. "Still, thanks."

Canada shrugged, and reached into the cupboard for the maple syrup. Lydia gave him a quizzical look, but Canada just winked. Maybe France was _really_ starting to get to his head. "Trust me."

Once the water boiled, he got the English Breakfast out of it's box, put it into the mug, then poured the water in. "Strong or weak?"

"I don't mind. Weak-ish. Just...don't make it taste like hot water. My Dad did that - he was a terrible tea-maker."

Canada grinned. "Don't worry, I won't."

While it brewed, he started to make his own coffee. Lydia watched curiously, eyeing the maple syrup, feeling more than a little concerned about it's presence. That, and the polar bear. Nonetheless, she didn't object as Canada swiftly took out the teabag and put it in the bin, poured in a bit of maple syrup, and a dash of milk.

He handed it to her, and she cocked an eyebrow at him. "This is so weird."

"Try it," he said earnestly. "It's like a sweetener."

He took a sip of his own drink, and Lydia narrowed her eyes, and tentatively did the same. Then she drank some more.

"Oh my God. This is so good. This is like..." She broke off, having more.

"Heaven in a cup?"

Lydia swallowed. "Exactly. But it's so...it's so Canadian!"

Canada grinned. "What did you expect?"

"English Breakfast."

He nodded. "I don't blame you."

Lydia looked him up and down. "Honestly, you haven't done anything that _isn't_ seriously Canadian. You're always polite, you made pancakes for breakfast, you put maple syrup in tea...do you speak French?"

Canada tried not to look worried. " _Oui_ , but I'll take that as a compliment."

Lydia nodded and had more of the tea. "So, do you have any family?"

Canada blinked. "I live alone."

Lydia grinned. "That's no answer. Do you have siblings? Or even friends?"

Canada shrugged. "There's my brother, Alfred. He...lives in America. Actually...I'm the only one in my family who's...in...Canada."

That was always the strangest sentence to say.

"What does Alfred do?"

"You know, sibling stuff. Eating all the food whenever he comes. Generally being annoying. But in the end he's a loveable doofus." _With an alarmingly large military capacity._

Lydia laughed. "I meant, what's his job?"

"Oh, he's um...in the army. Air Force. You know, all about getting rid of terrorism and that."

The girl grinned. "And is he as American as you are Canadian?"

Canada nearly laughed. "Oh my God, don't get me started. He's like...the _embodiment_ of what it is to be American."

Again, not untrue.

"So are you two actually Canadian, or American."

 _How do I answer that?_ "Neither. We just...spread ourselves across the globe wherever we can in our family, in a way. Well it's kind of a family. Arthur lives in England, and Francis lives-"

Lydia was grinning. "Please tell me he lives in France, because that'd be hilarious."

Canada nodded. "He lives in France. He taught me French. Anyway, those two aren't exactly biologically related to us, but they kind of took us under our wing from a really young age. Alfred and I don't really know what happened to our parents..."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't worry. I feel pretty lucky to know Arthur and Francis, no matter the circumstances."

Lydia nodded. "What are they like?"

"Guess."

She frowned. "What, is the pattern I'm seeing accurate or something?"

"Probably."

She paused. "Arthur lives in England, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Bet he can't cook."

Canada grinned. "That's a _little_ unfair. He can cook rocks."

"And is this Francis very... _romantique?"_

"Spot on."

Lydia looked a bit bemused. "That's..."

"Like I said, we're a weird family." He checked the time - it was nearly six. "When do you have dinner."

"I don't mind. As long as it isn't like, 10pm."

Canada shrugged. "Okay. Let's make it eight."

"Sure. I can cook, if you want."

Canada shook his head. "I've got it. But thanks for offering."

"You did breakfast," she argued.

"Okay, I guess I didn't really have anything planned," he admitted. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll just buy some dumplings from the supermarket."

"I'll pay then."

"You don't have to!"

Canada cocked an eyebrow at her. "Your supply of money can't be endless. How much do you have left?"

"A couple of hundred."

"That won't last forever." He stood up, and reached into the pocket of his coat, which was draped over the back of one of the chairs around the kitchen table. Lydia glanced at her feet, feeling awkward, but accepted the money anyway.

 _We'll have to get over that awkwardness if she's going to stay for a while,_ he realised. And he hoped she would hang around. And not just so that he could prove a point to America and the others. At least, he hoped it wasn't just because of that.

She left quickly, hoping to just miss the crowds of people coming back from work, and Canada started to really feel Kumaruso's absence. And start worrying about keeping his status as a country from Lydia, sort of in general.

What if she knew? What would she think? Would she leave? Wound she be mad? Probably. And she'd be pretty weirded out...no, for now, it was probably be best to pose as normal, at least for now. Hopefully if she did ever find out, Canada would tell her, rather than her finding a photo of him in the 1900s or something.

He looked up as something buzzed. Lydia had left her phone on the couch - an iPhone 5. Or maybe a 5s, he wouldn't know. It was a text. He looked away, not wanting to read it. Her text was her business. But he did see that it was from someone who was apparently called 'F***face'. (Without the asterisks.)

He dismissed it quickly. It wasn't like he was entitled to know. _Maybe it's just her Dad._

When she came back, he didn't mention it. Dinner was quick and awkward, but conversation came a little more easily.

Lydia went to bed pretty early, and Canada, despite having slept for a few hours earlier, after exploding at America, was also keen to sleep. But Lydia still refused to use Canada's bed. So he was more than happy to go on the floor. Lydia found it kind of amusing - it looked like she'd decided that she wasn't going to be pushed into using the bed, and if Canada wasn't going to use the perfectly good bed which he was more than entitled to, then so be it.

Lydia asked if she could put the heater on, and Canada said that was fine. He didn't know how much time she spent on her phone that night - he fell asleep as he noticed her opening Tumblr.


End file.
